


Wishful Thinking

by grumkin_snark



Series: Comment Fics [30]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumkin_snark/pseuds/grumkin_snark
Summary: Due to a mixup, Lyanna leaves Winterfell thinking she’s going to hook up with Arthur, not Rhaegar.





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt is the summary, found [here](http://valar-morekinks.livejournal.com/316.html?thread=68668#t68668).
> 
> NOTE: THIS IS NOT AN AXL SHIP FIC AND I WILL MURDER ANYBODY WHO TRIES TO PERVERT IT INTO ONE.

The further he gets from Dragonstone, the more he misses her, and the more he misses her, the more he wonders why he’s here. To protect Rhaegar, he supposes, but the prince is a capable swordsman, and no reasonable person would attempt to harm him in the first place. After all, an attempt on Rhaegar’s life would mean inciting the king’s wrath, and no one wants that.

It helps if he reminds himself that they’re assisting Lady Lyanna. It had been surprisingly altruistic of Rhaegar, Arthur had thought, Rhaegar who always had a motivation for doing things, but then it occurred to him that Rhaegar could spin it as though he was the valiant knight answering a maiden’s desperate plea. Arthur’s not so certain that explanation would go over well with Lord Stark, or Lord Brandon, but the younger two Starks had seemed perfectly levelheaded, the one time Arthur had met them. Lord Robert would be unquestionably wroth in the beginning, but his taste for women— _any_ woman—is as legendary as his strength. Arthur’s quite positive he would recover.

The journey seems torturously long, driving home Elia’s absence, but at least Rhaegar is a decent enough traveling companion: quiet and mission-driven. Arthur would much rather that than a companion who insisted on prattling on or singing or making lewd jokes. Ashara had always made fun of him for his preferences, calling him morose and in need of a good laugh, but Elia had found his demeanor a refreshing change from Oberyn’s constant activity. What he wouldn’t give just to hear her voice—

“We should be nearly there,” Arthur announces, in an effort to rid his head of her. Dwelling would only make things worse.

Indeed they are nearly to their destination, for even in winter the air of the riverlands is heavy and oppressing, and a thousand lantern bugs light up the night. Another day is all it takes for them to arrive at the crossroads inn. As planned, it is Arthur who gets Lyanna’s attention by tossing rocks up at the window; Rhaegar had deemed it less ostentatious than if Rhaegar had done it himself. It’s a fair enough assessment. He lacks Rhaegar’s silver hair and lithe build, and of the two, he’d have more reason to be in the area.

Lyanna appears at the window to check who’s outside then flits away, and a moment later the candles in her room sputter and die one by one. Scant minutes later, she sneaks into the yard, a knapsack over her shoulder and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Ser Arthur, you’re here,” she whispers, following him back the way he’d come.

“A promise is a promise,” he replies. Rhaegar had done just that in his letters, promised he would see her to safety.

“How was your trip? I hope it wasn’t too arduous.” she asks. She reaches out to touch his arm, then quickly withdraws, as if he’s too intimidating. Ashara would think that of the highest hilarity.

“No, my lady,” he says, speaking as he might to a skittish colt. “Ah, here we are.”

They come upon the copse of trees where Arthur had left Rhaegar, and after a compulsory bow to the girl, he gladly searches out his horse’s company instead.

“Oh,” Lyanna yelps, when Rhaegar approaches her, surprised enough to draw Arthur’s attention. “Prince Rhaegar, I...you came as well.”

“Arthur alone could not complete such a delicate task,” Rhaegar jests. Lyanna seems taken aback, apparently not yet used to the dryness of his rare humor. Arthur merely rolls his eyes. _Delicate._ As though _he_ was the one who made a farce of that bloody tourney.

“We should go,” Arthur interjects. “We mustn’t risk being seen.”

“Will I be riding double with you?” she asks him. He thinks he sees a blush in her pale skin, but can’t imagine why.

“No,” says Rhaegar before Arthur can respond, “I acquired a horse for you from the inn’s stables. I left appropriate coin in return, of course.” He gestures to the gray palfrey tied to one of the trees, concealed by shadow. “You ride well, as I recall.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Rhaegar will do,” replies the prince, in the kind of calculatingly lilting tone that makes Arthur frown. Lyanna had come readily--he sees no need for seduction. “We are far from court, Lyanna.”

* * *

The first week proceeds without incident, though Lyanna is quieter than Arthur remembers her being at the tourney, until one evening when she comes to him as he’s keeping watch. “You should be resting, my lady,” he says. “We’ve another long day ahead of us.”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Elia is the first thing that enters his mind, and second the prophecy, but Lyanna couldn’t possibly know about either. “By all means.”

“It’s...I did not think the prince would have been with you.”

“You mentioned as such,” he says mildly. “He intends to personally see you to safety.”

“But why would _he_ need to? I thought it would be _you_ accompanying me, ser.”

“Me?”

“Well, it was you who wrote all those letters.”

He stares at her, wondering if perhaps he’s more tired than he thought. “It was Prince Rhaegar who wrote you, not me,” he says. Rhaegar had not signed the missives, lest they fall into the wrong hands, but Arthur had thought the sender quite clear. Lyanna’s face falls at his words, and so he softens his voice. “Pray tell, my lady, why did you think it was me?”

“All that about being unhappy in your position and the need to get away from court for awhile...and then there’s the tourney.”

“What about the tourney?”

“I saw you,” she says. “You were so _angry_ , mayhaps even angrier than Brandon, like _you_ had wanted to crown me, not the prince.”

Her meaning hits him like a ton of bricks. “You are but _five-and-ten_ ,” he says through his horror. “Only four-and-ten at Harrenhal. Surely you did not think that I would pursue a...a _child_.”

“I’m not a child!” she objects. “I’m nearly a woman grown.”

Arthur wracks his brain trying to think of any moment he might have given her the wrong idea, but comes up blank. He’d barely even _spoken_ to the girl. He was furious that Rhaegar had given her the roses, but only because she never should have gotten them in the first place.

“I did not intend to mislead you,” he says. “But my duty is to the Kingsguard, and even if it were not, my eye could only be caught by a woman of mine own age, not one so young as you.”

Strictly speaking, his eye was caught before Lyanna was even _born_ , but telling her that, telling her that his very _soul_ aches for Elia, is not an option. She looks at him long and hard, as though the longer she does, the higher the chance he’ll tell her she was right.

“It was Rhaegar who sent them?” she asks. “Truly?”

“Every last one.”

“And you wouldn’t ever consider me the way I thought you did?”

Arthur does his best to fight through the revulsion. He debates several different ways to respond, each more emphatic than the last, but ultimately settles for the simple. “No.”

“I feel like a right fool,” she says. “I just--well, you’re not Robert. You don’t seem like you’re the kind to frequent brothels.”

“You have a queer sort of honor,” says Arthur pointedly. “You decry Robert for being unfaithful during your betrothal yet would applaud me breaking the vows I swore to the gods and His Grace the king.”

Spots of color rise high in Lyanna’s cheeks, though with frustration this time instead of embarrassment. “That’s not how I _meant it_.”

“No, but it’s what _is_. You didn’t _think_ , Lyanna.”

Her glower is a rather spectacular one, and Arthur would laugh if he weren’t certain that doing so would get him a kick in the shins. “So how is this going to go then?”

“There’s an abandoned tower in the Prince’s Pass,” Arthur explains. “It’s only every other moon or so that trader ships from Braavos bother docking at Starfall, so we’ll have to idle at the tower for a while until the next comes through since it would be far riskier to try to negotiate a ship specifically for you. Rhaegar has already made your living and working arrangements.”

Lyanna nods. “The prince is very kind to do all this.”

“Don’t tell the singers that,” says Arthur. “They’ll use any excuse to write another song about him. Now go on to sleep. We’ve a long ride come morning.”

_And every day we travel is one day closer to being once more by her side._

“You _said_ that already.” She starts to stomp away, but then turns around. “Am...am I doing the right thing? Running away, that is?”

Arthur looks at her with pity. “That’s not the sort of question I can answer for you.”

In retrospect he should have come up with a better reply, for she does, in fact, kick him in the shins.


End file.
